1000 Kisses: 43 Afternoon Delight
by MzElektra
Summary: Life is made up of millions of moments. Relationships are made up of thousands of kisses. Each one is its own story. (This is an ongoing series of vignettes of Harry & Draco's relationship. In no particular order. Think of the numbers as the order they're recalled in by them, but I'm relating them as I choose.) Inspired by the poem 'Out of Catullus' by Richard Crashaw


As far as pillows go, Draco Malfoy's silk-covered lap is probably Harry's favorite.

The thought brings a curve to his mouth and he glances up at Draco.

The butter yellow afternoon light coming in through the old, thickened window glass gilds Draco's sharp profile. His usually impeccably groomed hair is adorably mussed, a few strands standing straight up. His cheeks are pink, and the faint pattern of the ivy embroidered on the edge of Harry's bedsheet is still visible just along his jaw. The sun ignites the faint gold of his scruff and halos his platinum hair.

Harry lays the paper down on his chest and reaches up to brush his fingertips over Draco's pointed chin to get his attention. The short blond hairs feel much like the soft velvet nap on the couch cushions.

"Muse, perhaps of desire. Five letters."

Draco's full lips tilt to the side. Without looking away from his book, he says, "Erato."

Harry lifts the paper again, chewing his lip as he pencils the word in.

He loves days like this, when Draco stays over and wakes late and lazy and rumpled and in no hurry to get back to his own flat. The living room is always a bit chilly, but Kreacher keeps the fire stoked high enough that Harry's comfortable lounging in just his boxer briefs.

And there's plenty of hot tea.

Draco sits on one end of the lumpy couch with his skinny, bizarrely elegant bare feet up on the coffee table and reads herbal grimoires from the cobwebby library while drinking Earl Grey. Harry stretches out on his back with his head in Draco's lap and does the crossword (with the occasional assist from Draco on the harder clues).

They eat toast with sticky sweet jam and more often than not end up back in bed. If they make it that far. Harry finds it almost impossible to resist a sleepy, half-naked, studious Draco who tastes of tea and currant jelly.

Especially when he wears nothing but the black silk dressing gown he keeps in Harry's closet. Its deep ebony fabric is stark against his creamy skin, but so soft and warm, and Harry thinks it's unbearably sexy.

So far, it's the only thing Draco has left at Grimmauld, despite how long they've been seeing each other.

It worries him a bit that Draco is so careful not to leave any of his stuff behind. Though, he doesn't seem to object to the amount of Harry's things—a toothbrush, a spare pair of trainers, his second best broom, various and sundry articles of clothing, his backup glasses, a set of Quidditch gear for his pickup league, a book Hermione lent him, the extra key to his office, a Venomous Tentacula plant Teddy gave him for his birthday, and several other odds and ends—currently residing in his flat. So perhaps he isn't completely averse to the idea of eventual cohabitation.

Maybe it's something about Grimmauld specifically that holds him back.

It does need more than a bit of sprucing up. Though he's gotten rid of most of the more unpleasant reminders of the Black family legacy, the house itself is still rather shabby. Drafty, dusty, a bit dim. Nothing like Draco's clean, bright, airy apartment.

Harry sighs and turns his head to the side, smiling at the sight of Draco's long toes, and presses his cheek against the silk that covers Draco's thigh. The toned muscles tense slightly beneath him as Draco flexes his feet. Harry nuzzles against Draco's knee and lets his eyes drift closed. The scent of Draco's cologne lingers in the fabric, something clean, citrusy, and a bit spicy.

Under that, he can smell the creamy tang of Draco's skin. That, too, clings to the silk.

He would never admit it to anyone, but sometimes, when it's been a few days since he's last seen his boyfriend, Harry will stand in his bedroom and just gaze at the dressing gown mixed in with the collection of his t-shirts that Kreacher insists on hanging up. It looks thoroughly out of place, and yet perfectly… right. Harry gets an inordinate amount of pleasure from seeing it there.

Draco shifts, stretching his legs and recrossing his ankles. The long fingers of his right hand comb idly through Harry's hair as he turns a page in his book. A sigh swells Harry's chest as warm contentment fills him down to the tips of his bare toes. He wiggles them against the green velvet of the couch cushion.

He rubs his chin against Draco's thigh again, enjoying the little hum Draco gives in response.

Harry considers setting the crossword aside, taking Draco's book away, and investigating what's underneath the dressing gown just a few inches from his waiting mouth. His blood heats, tingling in his lips and the pit of his stomach.

Draco's nails scratch lightly at his scalp. "Afternoon Delight."

"That's _just_ what I was thinking." Harry presses his grin against Draco's knee. Draco chuckles, tugging his hair a bit.

"No, you degenerate. Forty-three across. 'Danoff 76 chart topper'. Afternoon Delight." But he says it with a smile and lays his book on the table.

Harry tosses his pencil and the paper over the back of the couch, reaching up as Draco bends down. He stretches upward and wraps his arms around Draco's neck, pulling him into the kiss. The position is awkward, but when their lips touch, neither of them cares. It's a warm, languid, slippery dance of tongues and teeth.

Draco's left hand skates teasingly down Harry's bare chest and then curls over his cotton-clad cock. Harry presses up into the caress, licking into Draco's mouth with a gasp as Draco massages his quickly hardening length.

When they part, Draco's irises are a soft dove grey and his flush has darkened and spread down his throat. The dressing gown gapes, revealing the pale, sculpted planes of his chest down to the tight pink buds of his nipples.

He caresses the length of Harry's cock with his fingertips and Harry moans. "Draco."

It's been six months since they started officially seeing each other. Since they stopped pretending to be nothing more than former adversaries and colleagues. And nearly eight months before that of ducking into empty offices and secret meetings at Draco's flat. And still, _still_ even the slightest touch of Draco's hand on him is enough to set his blood on fire.

Harry sits up, turning his upper body toward Draco, leaning in until their chests brush. Draco's is almost entirely smooth compared to his. Harry knows how much Draco loves the way the dark curls feel against his skin and takes advantage, pressing closer.

He slides his fingers into Draco's silky platinum hair and tugs him back to his mouth for another kiss.

This one is deeper, hotter, but still so, so slow. Draco's tongue, Harry can attest (and has done, on a regrettably drunken night Ron would likely rather forget), is very long and talented. He sucks at it, tasting bergamot and sugar.

Draco's agile fingers slip beneath the waistband of Harry's pants to wrap around his aching shaft and stroke.

"You're very hard, Potter," Draco murmurs against Harry's mouth. "Didn't I satisfy you earlier?"

Draco had awoken him with his wicked tongue lapping Harry's cockhead, had teased Harry until he was shaking and begging. Then he'd rolled to his back, pulled Harry on top of him, wrapped his legs around Harry's waist, and urged Harry to fuck him into the mattress.

They'd both been so wrung out after that they dozed for another hour before coming downstairs for a late breakfast.

With the tip of one finger, Harry traces Draco's swollen, pink lips. He leans in to brush them with another kiss.

"You always satisfy me."

The admission comes out a husky rasp and Draco's grey eyes glint with pleasure. The pad of his thumb rubs over the slippery crown of Harry's cock. He smears the sticky wet fluid down Harry's shaft, easing the stroke of his hand.

His grip is firm, almost tight, and spine-tingling. Not even Harry's own hand knows this perfect amount of pressure. Only Draco.

Harry reaches down and yanks at the ties to the dressing robe, parting the midnight fabric to reveal the alabaster length of Draco's body. His prick rises from the small patch of pale blond hair at his groin, thick, hard, and flushed a dark pink.

As he watches, pre-come wells from the slit until it beads and trickles down the side of Draco's shaft. Harry catches it on a fingertip and brings it to his lips. Draco's eyelids dip and his nostrils flare as Harry licks his finger clean, mouth flooding at Draco's sweet taste.

Before Draco, Harry never could have imagined enjoying this as much as he does.

He had wondered, of course. Fantasized, even. As far back as Hogwarts. Not about Draco _specifically_ (at least not that he's willing to admit), but about other blokes in general. But there had been too much going on to explore that question. Or so Harry had told himself. And he'd loved Ginny.

Then, after the war, when things had ended with Gin… well, there had been a few times, out at a club, that he had felt an attraction. He'd snogged a bit. Shared a few hurried, awkward, but very satisfying mutual wanks in a public toilet. But the rest had felt too monumental to broach. Too frightening. Harry hadn't even been able to think of it without his mind shying away, filing it for later.

Until Draco. Until that first kiss, in the alley. The one Draco hadn't meant.

Then, it had been all he'd been able to think about. Incessantly, right up to the moment, months later, when he'd finally gotten his mouth around Draco's cock.

Draco's hand stills, squeezes. "Boring you, am I?"

Harry blinks, heat stinging his throat as he realizes he drifted into remembrances of the early days of their relationship. His finger is still in his mouth, though the last lingering flavor of Draco is gone and he tastes only his skin, faintly tangy from the jam.

He draws it free and runs the saliva-wet digit around Draco's taut right nipple.

"Just remembering the first time I worked up the nerve to suck you." He licks his lips, feeling the phantom stretch of them over Draco's girth. His cheeks burn, no doubt glowing red. "I had no idea what I was doing, but I loved the way your prick felt in my mouth. And you tasted so good."

Draco shudders, his eyes falling briefly closed. Harry drops his left hand to Draco's lap, slipping it between his thighs to cup the warm weight of his bollocks. He caresses the silky, platinum hairs dusting the tender sack with his thumb.

Draco spreads his knees, eyes silver in the sunlight. He resumes stroking Harry's cock, but raises his free hand to Harry's cheek. His thumb rubs over Harry's lower lip.

"You were quite enthusiastic."

Harry grins against as he fists Draco's cock. It feels good in his hand, hard, hot flesh throbbing in time with Draco's heartbeat. He flicks his tongue out, snaking it between Draco's thumb and pointer, tasting the faint salt of his skin.

"I've had a fair bit of practice since then."

Harry pushes Draco against the back of the couch and slides down, onto his side, draping himself over Draco's lap. He braces his left arm on Draco's right thigh to wrap his hand around Draco's shaft. Draco tugs Harry's pants down further, freeing his cock entirely, tucking the blue cotton under his bollocks.

"I don't recall dwelling on the state of your expertise at the time. Oh!"

His gasp dissolves into a groan when Harry leans forward and wraps his lips around the slick crown of his cock. When he teases the tip of his tongue into the sensitive slit, Draco bucks beneath him, forcing more of his length between Harry's lips. His hand tightens on Harry's shaft.

Harry hums in the back of his throat, pleasure coiling at the base of his spine.

The fire crackles at his back, tightening the bare skin of shoulders, filling the Sunday silence with cheery pops that serve as almost musical counterpoint to Draco's ragged breaths. Harry curls closer, sinking down several more inches on Draco's cock. He swirls his tongue around the head, sliding it beneath the ridge to the dip on the underside that drives his boyfriend wild.

Draco arches and curses, relinquishing his hold on Harry's prick to grab at his hip, digging blunt nails into Harry's skin. His other hand grasps at Harry's hair, pulling his head deeper into the cradle of his thighs.

Despite the loss of Draco's touch on his own aching shaft, Harry's body thrums with pleasure as he sucks Draco deeper. He loves taking Draco like this, working his mouth and tongue up and down his thick, hard flesh.

"Harry, oh! Harry!" Draco pants.

He loves that, too. Draco mindless, with Harry's name on his lips.

Harry rolls onto his stomach, hissing at the friction on his prick. Draco's left hand skims down along the curve of Harry's spine. He palms Harry's arse, massaging as Harry sinks down on his cock. Draco's thighs twitch and the ridged muscles of his belly spasm as Harry bobs his head.

Draco's head thumps against the back of the couch, his throat rippling on a moan, though his heavy-lidded eyes don't leave Harry's face. His blond lashes glimmer in the brightening sunlight.

The tip of his index finger glides down the crease between Harry's cheeks, teasing the spot just behind his bollocks and rubbing over the puckered, sensitive skin of his hole. Harry lifts his hips, pushing up into the caress as he swallows around Draco's cock.

He takes his time, tracing each swollen vein with his tongue, suckling the smooth, sloping head, dragging his tingling lips down the underside to push the tip of his nose into the crease of Draco's leg. He nips his inner thigh, licking away the small hurt before drawing Draco's sack into his mouth and caressing it with his tongue. Draco's hand shakes as he cards it through Harry's messy hair.

"Still pretty enthusiastic, it seems." He speaks with a breathy rasp. His lips, pink and kiss-swollen, curl upward.

Harry pulls off and presses his face against the soft skin of Draco's thigh, huffing with laughter. He drops a kiss on the jut of Draco's hipbone and grins up at him. "When it comes to you? Always."

Draco's smile tips sideways. He blinks several times in quick succession. The hand resting on Harry's arse tightens.

This is something else Harry loves, telling Draco how much he enjoys being with him and watching his face go all soft and amazed as he processes the words. His aristocratic boyfriend is not very good at expressing his own feelings, and is constantly surprised by Harry's willingness to speak of his aloud.

Harry is too, sometimes, to be honest.

In the beginning, it had been challenging. He'd been so confused and conflicted, caught up in their past. Wanting Draco desperately and not wanting to admit he wanted him. But now that they've stopped fighting it… Harry can't believe how easy it is to be with Draco. The difference between clinging to a crumbling ledge by his fingertips, and letting himself fall.

He strokes up the length of Draco's cock leisurely, rubbing his lips back and forth, back and forth over the sensitive crown. Wriggling the underside of his tongue over the slit. Curling it around the ridge. Dropping little sucking kisses. Lapping up the flow of clear, sticky liquid.

Draco arches upward with a gasp, mouth parting on Harry's name.

Harry does it again, teasing Draco with languid licks of his tongue. He sucks just the head, pumping his hand in a slow, steady rhythm, tasting that tangy sweet flavor, until Draco's thighs quiver beneath him.

Each time Draco's fingertips brush across the tight ring of Harry's hole, Harry moans around his cock and pushes against the caress. The air in the room, which usually sports the edge of a chill, is hot with the fire and afternoon sun and their lust.

The scent of sex mingles with the slightly damp, musty smell that permeates the house.

Up close, Harry is surrounded by the faint green scent that always clings to Draco and the salty aroma of his sweat. It makes his head swim and his heart pound.

Curling his fingers around Draco's bollocks and rolling them on his palm, Harry snakes his tongue down to tease the tender line of skin in the center. He traces each tight ridge of folded flesh that holds the soft, round testes before sucking one into his mouth.

"Harry, please…"

That broken, breathless plea makes Harry groan and his cock throb. He rocks his hips, pressing it against the couch. Above him, Draco lifts his hand from Harry's arse and murmurs a quick lubrication spell. Normally, they both prefer the stuff Draco makes himself, but the ragged edge to Draco's voice says he's quickly losing his patience with Harry's sensual torture.

He isn't surprised to feel the tips of Draco's first two fingers, warm and slick, circle his hole before pushing in. Just a little, crooking and tugging at the tight ring. Then he pulls them out. Pushes them back in, a little deeper. In. Tug. Out. A swirling caress of his sensitive sphincter. In again, further. Another toying pull, opening him. Back out.

Over and over until his fingers are all the way inside Harry, down to the knuckle.

The tingling burn is minimal, but Harry loves the feeling of being stretched and full. He pulls his knees under him, lifting to push back against those pumping, twisting fingers. He spreads his legs as much as he can on the couch's narrow cushions.

Draco directs Harry's mouth back to this cock, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.

A molten pool of lust pulses in Harry's gut as he drags the tip of his tongue up Draco's cock from base to tip. He sucks the slippery, spongy glans into his mouth and milks Draco's shaft with his fist, tasting the flood of pre-come on his tastebuds.

"I love watching you fuck yourself on my fingers, Potter."

Draco knows what it does to Harry when he uses that tone, how it makes his brain pop like a Christmas cracker. Draco curls his fingers and massages Harry's prostate, making him keen with pleasure. Then he pulls his fingers free, stroking them gently over the back of Harry's thigh.

He whimpers at the loss, rolling his eyes over to Draco's, pleading wordlessly. Draco looks disheveled and debauched and the smile he flashes Harry is as sharp and smug as it was that first day on the train.

"What do you want, Harry?"

His warm, slick fingers brush against the back of Harry's bollocks. With his other hand, he caresses Harry's straining jaw and up into his hair, tugging the long, wild locks to draw Harry's mouth off his cock.

"Tell me."

The command sounds arrogant, the tilt of his chin haughty. At first, Harry had believed Draco craved his words because he liked to make the Chosen One beg. And that was part of it. But the longer they are together, the better Harry understands his enigmatic lover.

Draco wants to know Harry is there with him, in these moments. Really there. And Harry gets it, because he wants the same thing. Those early months, they were both so angry about the power of their attraction, but any time Draco closed his eyes Harry demanded he _look_ at him.

He holds Draco's molten grey gaze now.

Harry licks his lips. They're tingling and faintly numb. His jaw aches and his throat stings, but he clears it.

"I want another finger. Give me…" He trails off, a shudder of sharp anticipation working through him. "Fuck me with three fingers, Draco."

Draco's smile spreads into a softer, sweeter thing as he rubs three fingers up and down the crease of Harry's arse.

"Tell me, Potter. Is three fingers _really_ what you want," he asks, tapping them against the upper swell of Harry's buttocks, "or do you want _four_?"

Harry swallows. He presses his cheek, cleanly shaven unlike Draco, against Draco's cock. Draco combs through his hair as Harry nuzzles his shaft. His heart beats hard against his ribs as he nods. But of course, Draco wants words.

Both blond brows lift, his grip tightens in Harry's hair.

"Three?" He presses slippery fingerpads against the loosened ring of muscle. "Or four?"

Harry's lids fall, but Draco forces his head back to hold his gaze. Heat beyond lust crawls up his spine, settling between his shoulders. He is embarrassed by how bad he wants it. Tears sting his eyes. He wants to look away.

Draco's hold relaxes. He cups the back of Harry's head, thumb tender on the curve of his ear.

"Harry—"

"Four." His voice is a rasp, but he forces the word out, embarrassment be damned. Because never, when he has told Draco what he wanted, has Draco made him feel anything other than pleasure for it. "Please, Draco."

And this is the truth about Draco that most would likely find surprising if they knew it—he will give Harry anything he asks for, if it is within his power. A simple "please" from Harry, and Draco will stop at nothing to give him what he wants. What he needs.

Now, he presses four slick fingers inexorably into Harry, stretching him so far the burn sinks into his belly and hips. Sweat prickles on his bare skin.

Harry moans, pressing his forehead against Draco's hip. His fingers tighten around Draco's cock, pulling a groan from his boyfriend. Or perhaps it's the sight of his glistening fingers thrusting into Harry's tight hole.

The tip of Draco's pink tongue curls in one corner of his mouth as he pushes deeper and spreads his fingers inside Harry. Harry's breath catches in his throat. His heart stops for a long breath, and then races to make up the time. Harry shakes, desire churning in his gut.

He can only press his face close to Draco, his quivering mouth against his cock, and whimper.

If he could think, it might bother him to be on his knees with his arse in the air on the ratty old couch in his dingy living room while Draco slowly finger fucks him. But his brain is a soft lump of lust and crackling fire and Sunday sun and Draco.

Draco caresses his neck and shoulders in gentle counterpoint to the deep, measured thrusts of his fingers.

"That's it, Harry," Draco croons, stroking Harry's hair. "You're taking them so well. You look amazing like this, spread open for me."

Harry groans at Draco's words, face hot and slick with sweat. The praise makes his prick throb and the muscles of his inner channel clench on Draco's pumping digits. Draco's breath catches and his cock pulses in Harry's hand. Another trickle of pre-come dribbles down over Harry's knuckles.

He turns his face to lick up the salty sweet drip, curling his tongue around Draco shaft.

"Oh, Harry," Draco gasps, fingers sinking deeper into Harry's hair. His other hand stills before gently drawing out and petting Harry's hip. "Come up here, love."

The word makes Harry's heart stutter. He sways as he straightens, thigh muscles trembling, lungs locked.

They haven't said that to each other yet. Harry wants to, badly. It sometimes bubbles up into his throat whenever they're alone, pressing on his tongue, but he always swallows it. He's terrified the sound of it spoken out loud will break this beautiful balance they've found. Or somehow remind Draco that they're meant to be enemies.

But now Draco's the one who's uttered it, and Harry's mind is spinning.

It's not _the words_ , but it's one of them and his heart thunders. Draco, flushed and soft-eyed, doesn't seem to even notice he said it. His hands urge Harry to straddle him, bracing his hips so he can swing his leg over. Harry swallows, the fabric of Draco's robe cool against the skin of his knees and the palms of his hands. He pushes it from Draco's shoulders, shoving it down his arms, baring all of Draco's smooth, pale, skin, unable to think beyond the pounding of his blood and his aching prick.

Harry's been taking it slow, enjoying the lazy somnolence of the afternoon, teasing Draco. But now he's ravenous, his whole body throbbing with need.

He wraps his arms around Draco's neck and crashes their mouths together, sucking at Draco's lips. Draco answers his passion with passion, nails dragging down Harry's bare, sweat-slick back. He grips Harry's arse and pulls him in. Harry moans into Draco's mouth as the head of his prick brushes Draco's abdomen.

"Draco, Draco." He grabs at Draco's head, holding tight, nipping at his lips and velvet-scruffed chin.

He presses down against Draco's cock, rocking, sliding his arse over the hard, slippery length. Draco's fingers dig into his buttocks as he arches up against Harry, thrusting his cock along the lubricated crease.

Harry undulates, sucking at Draco's tongue and tasting tea, rubbing as much of his body against Draco's as he can.

When the head of Draco's cock brushes against Harry's hole, they both groan. Draco pulls one hand from Harry's arse to wrap it around his shaft and push the smooth, slippery crown harder against the slick pucker.

Harry gasps. Draco's mouth curves against his.

"Is that what you want, love?"

Again, Draco seems oblivious to the bomb that word sets off within Harry. He clings tighter to Draco, pressing back against that tantalizing touch. His blood bubbles and sparks. Lust rages in his chest and gut.

Harry bites Draco's kiss-swollen lower lip.

"Fuck me, Draco. _Now_."

Silver-grey eyes widen, and Draco sputters a laugh. But he nudges harder against Harry, breaching him a single inch. With a growl and a swivel of his hips, Harry drives himself all the way down onto Draco's cock.

"Ah-Harry!" Draco's fingers spasm on Harry's hips, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows hard.

Harry sucks at the side of Draco's neck, tasting sweat and that clean, astringent smell he always associates with his boyfriend. He grinds himself into Draco's lap, breathless at the throbbing heat of Draco's cock deep inside him.

"Fuck me," he repeats, muttering the words against Draco's ear as he scatters kisses up his throat. "Fuck me, Draco." Harry rolls his hips. "Fuck me hard." He lifts up. "Deep." He drops back down. "Long."

Draco pants, pushing upward, hissing Harry's name. Harry nibbles the soft skin of Draco's earlobe, digging his fingers gently into Draco's scalp as he rides his cock.

"Please," Harry moans.

That word has the desired effect on his already worked up boyfriend. Draco snaps his hips upward, fingers biting into Harry's flesh as he yanks him down to meet his thrust. The glide of Draco's cock over Harry's prostate sends a pulse of pleasure throughout his body, curling his toes.

Draco turns his head, finding Harry's mouth, his breath moist and tea-scented against Harry's lips.

Beneath them, the old couch with its lumpy, worn green velvet cushions creaks with their movements. Dust motes drift lazily through the shafts of golden sunlight. The fire, though burned down considerably, still warms the air enough for both Harry and Draco's skin to gleam with sweat.

Harry holds on to Draco, lips brushing, tongues curling, as Draco drives into him over and over and over. His hands are hard on Harry's arse, his thrusts deep and rhythmic. Hard and steady, just like Harry asked.

Draco's mouth devours his before sliding along his cheek. He finds the sensitive spot beneath Harry's ear and sucks at it, sending a sparking lance of sensation down Harry's spine. He murmurs low and hot against Harry's skin.

"You feel so good, Harry. The way you move on me, that noise you make when I bury my cock in your tight, hot arse."

He makes the noise—a whimper in the back of his throat—as Draco pistons his hips to drive into Harry. Back when he used to wonder what it would be like to be with another bloke, Harry had always imagined he'd be the one doing the fucking. The idea of being fucked had been so foreign.

Then, of course, Draco had come barging into his office late one night and kissed him senseless and it had no longer been unimaginable.

In fact, by the time Draco finally fucked him for the first time, Harry had been gagging for it. Had dreamt about it at night in his bed while he wanked, the toy he'd blushingly purchased from a Muggle sex shop stretching his hole, making him come harder than he ever had in his life.

Still, it hadn't felt as good as this did—the hot, hard reality of Draco's cock filling him and the slick glide of his tongue in Harry's mouth, his hands on Harry's body and the wicked murmurs of his praise.

Pleasure bursts in waves inside Harry each time Draco thrusts. The creaking of the couch intensifies. More dust fills the air.

Sweat and pre-come eases the glide of Harry's cock against Draco's smooth stomach.

Draco guides him up and down on his shaft, over and over and over, burying himself as deeply inside Harry as possible. Harry presses close, feeling his orgasm build from the base of his spine.

One long-fingered hand leaves Harry's arse to stroke up his back and tangle in the sweat-damp hair at his nape. His tongue slides into Harry's mouth in teasing flicks, a soft counterpoint to the driving rhythm of his hips.

"Draco," Harry whimpers against his lips, fingers clutching at the white-blond silk of Draco's hair. Lust burns and shimmers beneath his skin. His throat is tight with need. "Draco, _please_."

Draco nips the edge of his jaw, his eyes blazing with passion and his face flushed. "What do you need, Harry? Tell me. I'll give it to you. Just tell me. Whatever you want."

Sweat and tears sting Harry's eyes, his heart hammering in his chest as he clings to his boyfriend and shakes with pleasure. His prick is so hard it almost hurts, throbbing against Draco's belly, the friction delicious but not quite enough to tip him over the edge.

"I want to come."

He practically sobs the words against Draco's cheek, blindly seeking his mouth again, his vision blurry.

Draco holds him hard to the kiss, his left hand skimming over Harry's chest, tweaking a sensitive nipple before his knuckles brush down Harry's abdomen. When his long, strong fingers wrap around Harry's cock, it sends another sharp spasm of sensation into Harry's gut.

"Come for me, Harry. Show me how good I make you feel."

The steady glide of the head of Draco's cock over his prostate and the firm stroke of his hand on Harry's shaft are incredible, but it's Draco's words that send him over the edge. His nerves flare with white hot sensation as his orgasm rolls through him.

Harry shudders as his prick pulses, coating Draco's chest, stomach, and hand with creamy come.

He keeps riding the tidal wave of euphoria, rising and falling on Draco's cock. His inner muscles clench and relax, milking the iron hard length. Harry moans into Draco's mouth.

"Draco!"

Draco fucks him through the slowly diminishing ripples of pleasure, grunting quietly with effort, his thighs slapping against Harry's arse.

Harry buries his face against the warm, damp skin of Draco's neck, clinging to his shoulders. He can feel the taut muscles moving beneath Draco's skin, bunching and tensing. He opens his mouth, tasting salt as he presses the flat of his tongue against the hard sweep of Draco's collarbone.

The words well in his throat again, threaten to spill out into the warm air.

Still awash in the ebbing warmth and tingle of his orgasm, Harry can't hold them back completely. He mouths them silently against Draco's skin instead.

Draco's arms wrap around Harry's back, squeezing him tight.

His pace falters, his hips stuttering. Harry feels Draco's cock thicken within him and throb, filling him with heat.

"Harry," he chokes out. "Harry, look at me." Draco's fingers tighten on his shoulder.

Harry lifts his head to meet Draco's wild silver gaze. Draco grips the back of Harry's neck hard, keeping him there as he shudders with orgasm, his other hand pressing against the small of Harry's back.

Draco sighs brokenly, tipping his chin up to press his mouth back to Harry's.

The kiss is long, slow, and intense. When they finally pull apart, Draco's lips curl upward.

"What?"

Harry's breath is still uneven, though his heart has begun to settle. Small shivery aftershocks of pleasure still sizzle along his skin every time he shifts in Draco's lap. Draco drags his fingers through the dark hair curling over Harry's chest, lifting a single brow.

"I was just wondering what else the crossword puzzle might suggest we do."

He shoves gently at Draco's shoulder and rolls his eyes. "How do you know Muggle music anyway?"

Draco leans back, draping his arms along the back of the couch, heedless of the mess Harry has made of them both. His grin is broad and sharp. "Haven't you learned by now, Potter? I know everything."

Harry snorts and lays his head on Draco's shoulder.

"Oh, of course. How could I have forgotten?"

Draco nuzzles against Harry's nose, his laughter puffing against Harry's cheek. Harry combs his fingers through Draco's hair, smoothing the rumpled strands into a semblance of order. He should climb off Draco's lap and clean them both up, but he feels too warm and good and Draco's mouth is so close.

He kisses him again, lots of slow tongue and rubbing lips. Draco's hands massage the long muscles of his back as he breaks the kiss, his eyes twinkling.

"Maybe we should—"

With an exasperated groan and a crack that sounds somehow judgemental, the legs of the couch give out, spilling them both to the carpet. A cloud of grey dust puffs up from the dejected green velvet cushions.

Harry lands on his back with an oomph, wincing at the sudden sensation of Draco's cock sliding out of him, then cursing a moment later as his lanky boyfriend collapses half on top of him. Draco curses, his forehead thumping hard against Harry's shoulder. Harry wheezes at the dust and stares up at the ceiling.

For a moment, they lay still, taking in the sudden change in their positions.

"Well," Harry says, coughing. "I was thinking about maybe renovating the house. What do you think?"

Draco pushes up onto his elbows, his lips pursed. Harry feels a brief flash of anxiety at the stern look, but Draco pats his chest.

"I think that's an excellent idea. I have a few ideas for the kitchen."

Harry chuckles, leaning up to brush another kiss against Draco's soft lips. The warmth spreading through him has less to do with the lazy, phenomenal sex and everything to do with Draco's casual reference to helping him decorate his home.

"Good. You know I'm helpless when it comes to things like that."

Draco nods, his fingers tracing over Harry's scar. "You are. Luckily, you have me."

"Luckily."

Harry shifts, groaning as a hard bit of wood prods him in the small of his back. Draco's brow furrows.

"Are you okay? You didn't hurt yourself?"

He reaches up to touch Draco's cheek. "I'm fine. Though, I think your wand is poking me in the arse."

Both Draco's brows bounce upward. He wriggles, pressing his now soft cock against Harry's hip. "Not anymore."

Harry rolls his eyes. "Help me up."

Draco pushes to his feet, but before reaching down for Harry he plucks his robe from the collapsed couch and shakes it free of dust. Harry could get up on his own, but instead he enjoys the view as Draco murmurs a wandless cleaning spell and then wraps his tall, pale form back in the soft ebony silk.

He flicks his fingers at Harry as well, sending a mint-scented wash of magic over his skin like tickling bubbles.

Harry shivers and takes Draco's extended hand, letting him tug him to his feet.

Once standing and wearing his pants, Harry surveys the wreckage of his former sofa.

"Well…"

Amusement tickles in his chest, making his lips twitch. Beside him, Draco sighs, though his mouth is a pleased curl.

"I never liked that couch anyway."

With a laugh, Harry slides an arm around Draco's waist and presses a kiss to the corner of his jaw. "You can help me pick out the next one."

Draco turns, sliding fingers into the hair at the nape of Harry's neck and tugging gently.

"Let's go get dressed. I know just the place."

"What? Now?"

Draco presses closer and ghosts his lips along the edge of Harry's ear. "Well… perhaps a shower first?"

Harry thinks of how much fun might be had with a wet, slippery Draco. Then maybe a late lunch and a little shopping. He can feel the smile splitting his face.

"Sounds perfect."

Draco nods his agreement, drops a kiss on Harry's temple, and pads to the stairs. He calls over his shoulder. "We should get something with a deeper seat than that green atrocity. And maybe a complementary chair. Do you have suitable end tables in this mausoleum somewhere? We should probably get those too. Have you considered color schemes?"

He doesn't actually pause to let Harry answer any of his questions as he climbs the rickety stairs, but Harry doesn't care. The truth is, he'd let Draco decorate the place any way he likes, so long as it meant he spent more time here.

Well, almost any way he likes.

Harry suspects Draco might be a bit fussy in his tastes, and he needs a few good, squashy chairs. And he doesn't want anything too frou-frou when it comes to colors. But they could (and would) argue about that later. He is, oddly, looking forward to it.

His heart humming in his chest, Harry follows his boyfriend up to the master bath.


End file.
